Blessing the End Zone?

Why faith isn’t magic or winning, but trust in the still, quiet way of love

On Monday, before a big Pittsburgh Steelers game, a priest walked onto the field and blessed one end zone. Not both. Just one.

Which immediately raises some fascinating theological questions.

Did God receive the request and think, “I do love all my children… but I’m really feeling the Steelers today.”

Did the kicker sense a sudden, unexplained spiritual unease?

Did angels subtly nudge the football mid-flight?

I’m not mocking the priest. And I’m certainly not mocking prayer. But moments like this remind me how easily faith can drift into something magical or transactional—as if believing in God means persuading God to intervene on our behalf, preferably at a critical moment, preferably with the score on the line.

That’s never been what faith has meant to me. I don’t understand faith as assent to a set of beliefs. I don’t understand it as certainty. And I don’t understand it as confidence that God will rig outcomes in our favor.

When I say I believe in God, I’m talking about trust in a way of living. A way that chooses love over fear. A way that practices compassion instead of dominance. A way that resists ego, refuses cruelty, and keeps leaning toward peace—even when that way feels slower, less efficient, or less rewarding.

Faith, for me, is the belief that this way of living matters. That it isn’t naïve. That it isn’t wasted. That it isn’t eventually swallowed up by violence, greed, or despair.

To lose faith, then, isn’t to stop believing in a big God in the sky that, if we pray right or use the right blessing, comes down and rescues us. No. To have faith means I have faith in a loving, incarnational God who inspires us to this same kind of loving right where we are.

So, to stop believing in God is to stop believing that Love makes a difference. It’s to stop trusting that kindness counts. It’s to conclude that the only things that really shape the world are power, money, and force.

That’s the faith I’m always trying to protect.

Fred Rogers (who lived in Pittsburg by the way), speaking to our nation right after the 911 tragedy in the U.S., said this: that when he was a child and saw frightening things on the news, his mother would say, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” He then went on to tell the world the same thing. Don’t get so caught up in the big headlines of this world but instead focus on the helpers.

I don’t think that was just advice for anxious children. I think it was a theology. Mr. Rogers wasn’t denying the darkness of the world. He was teaching us where to place our trust. Where to look for the true God. Not in spectacle. Not in strength. Not in who “wins.”

But in the quiet, persistent presence of people who show up. People who care. People who choose love when no one is keeping score. So, when I say I have faith, I don’t mean I’m confident God will tip the outcome in my favor. I mean I trust in a way of life. A still, quiet way of Love that is incarnationally woven into every fabric of our world...if we only have eyes to see and faith to join in. A way that keeps showing up, keeps helping, keeps choosing compassion especially when the cameras are off and no one is keeping score.

Faith isn’t belief as agreement, or prayer as leverage. It’s the stubborn, hopeful trust that this way of living matters—that Love, practiced over time and unconditionally, really can lift us all.

That’s the faith I’m trying to live with and teach. And, quite frankly, blessing endzones isn’t the way forward.

Your pastor and friend, learning to pour a different way, Brook

PS: I know, I know, the Ravens missed the field goal...but seriously?